Warmth
by Lindsey D. Perez
Summary: The story of a man in Arkam Asylum, how he lives out each day and how he comes to die.


**When** I wake up in the morning, I wipe away the blood crusted near my dead eyes. I pull my muscles out from my skin and sigh. Good morning world. I place my horrible feet on the cold concrete ground and listen to the sounds of screams and sobs that serenade me on this awful day.  
><strong>I<strong> go to the bathroom and wash my hair with Regret shampoo but not before I bathe my revolting body in Pain soap. I turn off the cold water and step out of the shower and hope I do not slip and crack my skull open on the floor. I walk back to my room without a towel, letting the water drip and fall where it may. It puddles on the floor and collects in places where the ground is lower. It looks wet and shiny, like freshly spilled blood.  
><strong>Kill<strong> is what I must do today although I do not want to. My whole life has been a blur of hurt, lapsed with sparse moments of happiness. I open the chest of my demons and bare the threads of shame. The shirt with holes goes over my head and the trousers of sorrow come after. Now that I am dressed in my usual sad manner, I take the comb from the top of my wretched dresser and pull it through my matted hair. The comb's razor sharp teeth scrape against my skull.  
><strong>Blood<strong> trickles down the back of my neck and I sigh. Today is going to be a boring day. I can feel it in my weak bones. I am resigned to this fate, that every day given to this person is a curse.  
><strong>Runs<strong>. Everyday day I take runs. Out in the courtyard. I do not talk to the other people there. They make me upset. Unhappy. Is there anything left in this world that can make me split a smile? No. There is nothing here for this wretch but to creep on it's belly and stalk the earth and whine and complain and bleed and bleed and bleed...  
><strong>And<strong> still I am not happy. It comes to my understanding that people are made happy by warm things... like puppies and kittens. Large breasts and smooth thighs. Wet kisses and seductive caresses. Hot smoke and warm drinks. I wonder if I will ever sample the warmth I have heard the Orderlies speak about when they think I'm not listening.  
><strong>It<strong> seems like these things would make me happy. They make every man happy. Don't they? Don't they? When will it be my turn to be happy, I wonder...  
><strong>Stains<strong>. Dirty filthy rags covered in stains of filth and muck. I rub them together so hard that my knuckles bleed and then more stains. Stains! If I don't do my job, I will be beaten and unfed and I will starve. My ribs rip through my shirt and tear new holes. No! I want warm things! I want warm drinks and warm breasts! Warm... warm are the tears that leave my dead eyes and sweet do they fall over my hollow cheeks. Salty and warm do these waters trickle on the tip of my tongue.I cry and rub the stains out. Will it ever be done? Will my suffering end? I cry and rub and cry and rub and cry...  
><strong>The streets<strong> outside are dark. I look out the reflective window and watch. There is a woman. Her legs are long and smooth, even from 20 floors up I can see. Her skin is fair and she is wearing red shoes. **Red...** Her coat is made of fur and drapes over her and hides her warm breasts from view. My crooked nose is crushed to the glass. If I cannot touch, at least let me see... Let me see...  
><strong>Red<strong> floods over my vision. How did I get here? What does it matter. I'm holding her. The woman with the **red** shoes. She succumbs to my scabbed hands and her supple body falls against my skin and bone form. I tremble. Beautiful... I want to say. So beautiful. Now that she is close, I can see her eyes. They are brown, like her hair and the coat she is wearing. But the shoes. The shoes are **red** And her lips... glossy and pouty and slightly parted and **red**, glorious, bright **red**... I lean forward and pressed my pale cracked lips to her smooth fleshy **red**...  
><strong>Red<strong> is all I see. **Red** bricks. **Red** moon. **Red** lights. **Red** eyes that glower and **red** teeth that snap and snarl. Loudly how the woman screams and unforgiving is the blow she sends to my head. So suddenly has this wretched life ended... As I lay bleeding on the concrete, I think of the woman and I feel warm. Most people say they feel cold in death but I feel warm. So warm... I close my eyes and find I am not laying in my bed of nails. I'm laying on the street. This street. My own blood spills from my head and flows into the gutter. It surrounds me, flows under my back. It is warm... I imagine it is warm like the other things I've heard the Orderlies talk about...like puppies and kittens. Large breasts and smooth thighs. Wet kisses and seductive caresses. Hot smoke and warm drinks.


End file.
